


Overgrown

by luzial, maerisk



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Embarrassing Tweets, F/M, Fluff, Lavellan is a reporter, Modern AU, Modern Thedas, Reporter AU, Romance, Social Media Awkwardness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2018-09-17 04:23:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9303980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luzial/pseuds/luzial, https://archiveofourown.org/users/maerisk/pseuds/maerisk
Summary: Ellana Lavellan is an investigative journalist assigned to cover an excavation in the Arbor Wilds. Her editors have received a tip that the dig may uncover new information about the "Final Inquisitor," a mysterious figure from the Dragon Age about whom almost nothing is known. Ellana teams up with a museum docent to investigate the story.Main story written byluzial.Story-within-the-story "Inquisitive Hearts" written bymaerisk.





	1. Chapter 1

The old-fashioned clock radio woke Ellana promptly at 5:45 in the morning, as it had done nearly every day for the last decade or so. She rolled over and flipped the switch that would silence it, then grabbed her cell phone from where it had been charging on her nightstand. The blue notification light flashed insistently at her.

 _2 missed calls  
_ _5 Slack mentions_

“Shit,” Ellana breathed out as she pulled herself up to lean against the headboard. A decade ago when she was fresh out of college, she wouldn’t have silenced the ringer on her phone when she went to bed. Back then, she had been willing to take any assignment at any hour, just for the chance to get her name on a byline. But now, she knew better. Sleep was a stronger motivator than ambition.

She opened the Slack app first, scrolling back through the last 6 or 7 hours of chatting between the _Thedosian Journal_ ’s editors and reporters. Thankfully there wasn’t too much extraneous chatter - almost everything was either editors requesting pieces or writers accepting assignments. Varric, she saw, had already claimed the morning opinion piece with a pitch about a scandalous new play being performed in Val Royeaux and had also taken an assignment for a listicle about Ferelden’s latest trends in hats.

“You’ve been around too long to be this much of an overachiever, Tethras,” she grumbled down at her phone.

Shortly after Varric’s assignments, she found the notifications she was looking for. Her editor, Leliana, had starting trying to get a hold of her a few hours ago. Ellana frowned as she pulled up her call log. Two missed calls, one just before midnight from Cass, the editor-in-chief, and another from Leliana about an hour later. She cleared her throat before tapping the callback button. It only rang once.

“Took you long enough,” said the heavy Orlesian accent on the other end of the line.

“Sorry, Leliana. I just got home from that assignment in Hossberg last night. I was trying to get a few hours’ sleep.”

“ _I_  haven’t even been to sleep yet,” Leliana replied with a clearly superior tone.

“You’re the night editor. It’s your job to have not gone to sleep yet,” Ellana replied.

“Splitting hairs. Do you want this assignment or not?”

Ellana let out a sigh as she placed her head against the wall behind her. She had hoped for at least a couple of days at home before she had to head out again, but it wasn’t as if she had a pet to take care of, or a partner to miss her while she was away. There were clean clothes in her closet, and probably a load waiting for her down at the dry cleaner’s - she could just drop off the contents of her suitcase while she was there.

“What’s the job?” she asked.

“Longform piece, or maybe a series, depending on how this goes,” Leliana said.

 _A series_ , she thought, her interest immediately piqued. Longform pieces weren’t very common assignments at the _Thedosian Journal_ these days, but they were exactly the sort of thing Ellana enjoyed writing the most.

“Cass has a source,” Leliana continued, “who says there’s an excavation underway in the Arbor Wilds-”

Ellana groaned into her phone and Leliana stopped abruptly. “Give it to somebody else, Leliana,” she said.

Leliana hesitated for a moment before asking, “Why exactly would I do that?”

“You _know_ why, Leliana,” Ellana said as she got out of her bed, pinning her phone between her ear and her shoulder. “The last thing I want is to get pigeon-holed into being the Dalish woman who writes Dalish think pieces. It’s boring, and it’s 101. There’s no depth to it and I’ll just end up having to rewrite the same basic piece over and over again for the next five years.”

“So don’t make it 101 then,” Leliana said. “If you want to dig deeper, then do it. Write for the audience that will appreciate something beyond the basic.”

“And you’ll publish that?” Ellana asked incredulously, yanking her comforter up towards her headboard with more force than was really necessary.

“Hey, if it’s a good story, I’ll publish it. And when have you ever failed to write a good story?”

“Leliana, I honestly can’t tell if that’s a threat or a really weird compliment.”

“That’s the spirit.” Leliana’s tone was equal parts encouraging and sarcastic. “But if you’d have let me finish explaining this thing in the first place, I’d have told you it’s _not_ a ‘Dalish think piece.’”

“You said it’s in the Arbor Wilds,” she shot back as she grabbed her laptop from her desk and shoved it back into her work bag.

“It’s … complicated,” Leliana replied. “The land is in the Arbor Wilds so it’s owned by Orlais, but the excavation team is from Tevinter, and the site itself is probably of Elven origin.”

Ellana stopped stuffing pens and notebooks into her bag long enough to let this register. “Sounds like an absolute nightmare,” she said.

“Gets worse,” Leliana replied almost happily. “Apparently this site may have been visited by the Final Inquisitor.”

Ellana let out a loud laugh before she could stop herself. “Yeah, right. It has that in common with at least half of Thedas, if you believe those old stories.”

“It doesn’t matter whether _I_ believe,” Leliana said. “People love that sort of thing. How many documentaries and novels and terrible TV dramas about that time period come out every year? That whole era is shrouded in mystery and people can’t get enough of it!”

“I don’t know, Leliana. Mysteries and magic and spirits and all that nonsense? Sounds like a job for Tethras.”

“Oh, don’t pick on poor Varric,” Leliana said with a chuckle. “He knows what he’s good at writing, and something like this doesn’t quite fit.”

“Well,” Ellana grunted, leaning down to retrieve a pair of boots from the bottom of her closet, “I’m still not sure what sort of article you’re looking for. It sounds like something for an academic paper, or maybe someone’s historical fiction - not that I’m trying to talk you out of it.”

“Your angle is the bureaucracy,” Leliana said. “I want to hear everything about the way these governments and institutions interact with each other and step on each others’ toes. I want to know what impact this project is having on the community down there, and what the locals think about it. _And_ ,” she continued in a conspiratorial sing-song, “when this Tevinter crew finds some evidence of the Final Inquisitor, I want you to get all of it on the record. _Anything_ you can find on her is newsworthy - I mean, we don’t even know her name!”

Ellana exhaled slowly, lowering herself onto a corner of her bed. She wasn’t sure there was much of a story, but Leliana seemed so certain and her instincts were rarely wrong.

“What do you know about Cass’ source?” she asked.

“They met in graduate school. He’s a historian or anthropologist - I forget which. She wants you to speak to him first before you head down to the Arbor Wilds,” Leliana explained. “She said he works at the museum in Lydes.”

“Oh,” she said, somewhat surprised. “Cass knows him personally?”

“Apparently they’re old friends,” Leliana replied. “She’s going to give you a call as soon as she’s on-shift later this morning. Think you can be on the train to Lydes by then?”

Ellana glanced back at her clock radio. A few minutes after 6 o’clock and she still had plenty to do before she could leave her apartment, let alone get on a train.

“Yeah, I’ll make it work,” she told Leliana.

“Perfect!” She could practically hear Leliana beaming at her from the other end of the phone. “I can’t _wait_ to read your drafts. _Inquisitive Hearts_ is one of my all-time favorite novels, you know.”

“Oh my gosh,” Ellana groaned, blushing despite herself. “I can’t believe you actually read that, Leli.”

“Listen, it was much more tasteful than the reviews would have you believe,” Leliana replied, giggling now as well. “Much more tasteful than if Varric had written it, for example.”

“If you say so.”

“If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll find some ancient love letters scattered in the ruins!”

“Yeah … somehow I doubt it will be quite that interesting,” Ellana said as she rolled her eyes.

“Have a safe trip, Lavellan,” Leliana said.

“Thanks, Leli. Talk to you soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here’s Overgrown, a little project I’ve been playing around with when Ruins is a bit too heavy to write. (Don’t worry, I’m still working on Ruins too, of course!)
> 
> And here’s the playlist I’ve had on repeat while I’ve been working on Overgrown:  
> <https://open.spotify.com/user/soetzufit/playlist/6gmXjN4rjec2OSORpV900a>


	2. Chapter 2

The train to Lydes departed the Ostwick station promptly at 8:36 a.m., with Ellana just barely buying her ticket and hopping aboard on time. Fortunately, most of the seats were empty at this hour of the morning in the early spring; students were in the middle of their semester at the university, and few others had any reason to make the 5-hour trip.

She settled into a comfortable seat by the window and spread out her things on the table in front of her. Her aging laptop had seen better days. Some of the letters on her keyboard had worn off completely, and there were a variety of scratches and scuffs on the computer’s cover from the many times it had been roughly shoved into a bag when she was in a hurry. It might not win any beauty contests, she thought as she powered it on, but at least it got the job done.

Ellana connected to the wi-fi hotspot she always carried with her when she was working, and opened up Slack to make her morning greetings.

 

> _Ellana:_ _Morning, all_
> 
> _Sera:_ _hey_
> 
> _Varric:_ _Morning, Magpie._

Ellana rolled her eyes at the nickname Varric had chosen for her after he noticed her tendency to wear mostly black and white clothing. She realized with some annoyance that she fit his description again today. Her solid black tunic hung nearly to her knees, covering a pair of black leggings that ended in black ankle boots. She wore a black cloth belt, a white scarf with a gold triangle pattern, and large gold earrings. It was more color than she typically allowed, if she was being honest with herself.

 

> _Ellana:_ _How’s the hat piece coming, Varric? Find enough pictures to fill it out?_
> 
> _Varric:_ _Oh yeah, doing groundbreaking work here. Really going to change some lives with this one._
> 
> _Sera:_ _i got a toboggan with bees on it last time i was in denerim if you want pic_
> 
> _Varric:_ _Sure, Buttercup. Send it my way._

She leaned back in her seat, taking the laptop with her. Her attention flicked back and forth between the trees passing in a blur outside her window and the computer screen where she continued half-heartedly sparring with Varric. She had nearly dozed off when her phone rang.

“Hi Cass,” she answered.

“Ellana.”

Cassandra Pentaghast spoke with a thick Nevarran accent and a clear disdain for any sort of nonsense. It was no wonder she and Varric frequently butted heads.

“I’m on the train to Lydes now. We’re supposed to arrive a little after 2,” Ellana said.

“Good. I’ve arranged to have someone pick you up at the station and bring you to the museum.”

She wanted to groan, but held back. The last thing she wanted was to be tied down to Cassandra’s source, without her own means of transportation for the duration of the assignment.

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” she began diplomatically. “But I’d really rather prefer to rent-”

“We’re trying to keep costs down, Ellana,” Cass bluntly interrupted her. “You know how expensive rooms in the Arbor Wilds are. If I can save a bit of money by having you carpool to the site with someone who’s going to be there anyway, then that’s what we’re going to do.”

“Yeah, sure,” she agreed unenthusiastically. It was true that the cost of a hotel - or more likely a ‘quaint’ bed and breakfast - in the Arbor Wilds was ridiculously overpriced. The elves there had made a living capitalizing on Orlesians and Tevinters who liked to play tourist in an ‘authentic’ elven city; authentic, in this case, meaning precisely what Orlesians and Tevinters expected an elven city to look like.

When Ellana had first visited the Arbor Wilds years ago, she was irritated by the clear superficiality of the place. Shop windows filled with Dalish-made knick-knacks and stands on every corner that claimed to divine your patron deity from the ancient elven pantheon. It was a poorly made reconstruction of the life she’d had growing up, and she resented it. But eventually, the more time she spent there and the older she was, she couldn’t sustain any angry feelings toward the elves who called it their home. If they could make money off the simple mindedness of tourists, more power to them, she thought.

“You’ll meet with Professor Solas at the museum in Lydes. He wants to go over a few things with you before you head down to the dig site,” Cass continued.

“Solas?” she asked, quickly grabbing one of her notebooks to write down the name. “What’s his area of study?”

“Mostly elven history these days, as far as I know. When we were in graduate school he had some more … obscure interests.”

“Alright,” Ellana said, still scribbling notes. “I’ll bite. What counts as an obscure interest for an elven historian at an Orlesian university?”

Cassandra took an uncharacteristic pause. She was usually so blunt about everything, Ellana was on the edge of her seat wondering what could possibly make her hesitate.

“Have you heard of ‘arcane realism?’” Cass asked.

Ellana let out a loud snort before she could help herself, startling an older man who’d fallen asleep across the aisle from her. She waved at him and mouthed a quick _Sorry!_ as he blinked blearily at her.

“I take that as a yes.” Ellana suspected that Cass was working quite hard to keep such an even tone.

“Yeah, I’ve heard of it,” she said, trying to control the smile she felt spreading across her face, which she was confident would come across over the phone. “Did they teach tarot and tea leaf readings at Lydes too?” she asked, letting her sense of humor get the better of her.

She was answered with an irritated sigh. “You’ve been spending too much time talking to Varric.”

Ellana laughed. “I’m sorry Cass. Go ahead, tell me about your friend who believes in magic.”

Cass let out another annoyed huff before she responded, apparently deciding to ignore Ellana’s comments. “As I recall, Solas focused more on the historical context used to support the arcane realism theory. He didn’t really take a position one way or the other as to whether magic, as it is described in some ancient texts, truly existed.”

“Ah, well that is a relief,” she replied with amused sarcasm. Cass ignored her again.

“To be honest, I rarely heard Solas speak about the theory. I only knew he was interested in it because he wrote his doctoral thesis on arcane realism. We had a deal - I edited his thesis and he tracked down some hard-to-find research for mine.”

Ellana jotted down a few more notes as she replied. “Well, Leliana said you wanted something a bit sensational, or mysterious, or … something for this story. I guess arcane realism is as good an angle as anything.”

“He’s an old friend, Ellana.” Cass’ irritation was ramping up, and Ellana realized she probably needed to reel herself in a bit. Maybe she really had been talking to Varric too much.

“Listen, Cass. I get it. I’m not going to intentionally embarrass him, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” Cass said. “Solas isn’t the story here - the dig is. He’s volunteered to be a resource for us, and he’ll be able to give you access to people and places you wouldn’t be able to have access to otherwise.”

“Why’s he doing that?” Ellana asked quickly. “What’s in it for him?”

“Solas is concerned that the findings of the expedition - whatever they may end up being - won’t necessarily be reported accurately,” Cass explained. “After all, it’s an elven site that the Orlesians and Tevinters have jurisdiction over.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I see his point. Anything that starts to look like too much of a political mess is going to get smoothed over, or omitted completely, when they announce their findings.”

Cass _mhmm_ -ed in agreement. “Professionally, Solas is there as an observer from Orlais to make sure that Tevinter doesn’t overstep itself on Orlesian land. Personally, Solas is there to make sure that neither state forgets it is excavating ancient elven land.”

“And me?”

“You’re there,” Cass said, “to keep all of them honest, and to write me an entertaining story about searching for the Final Inquisitor.”

“Sounds like a tall order, Cass.”

“Somehow, I’m sure you’ll be able to handle it. Yeah, OK,” She heard Cass put her hand over the receiver for a moment as she mumbled to someone else back in the main office in Denerim. “Listen, Ellana. I need to get off of here and finish reviewing the stuff that’s going up at noon. I’ll make sure your ride meets you at the station.”

“Thanks,” Ellana replied with a sigh, still not thrilled about being chauffeured around.

“Oh! One last thing,” Cass added, with more excitement than Ellana was used to hearing. “Did Leliana mention _Inquisitive Hearts_ to you? You really ought to pick it up if you haven’t read it before. It’s a fantastic novel. Might get you in the right mindset, you know?”

“I mean …” Ellana lowered her voice, with a guilty glance toward the old man who seemed to have fallen back asleep. “It’s just _smut_ , isn’t it, Cass? Like, well-written smut?”

“I - I absolutely wouldn’t - I mean I don’t think you can characterize -” Cassandra sputtered a series of unfinished objections. “I think that is _quite_ reductive,” she finally managed to say.

“OK, fine,” Ellana conceded. “I guess I’ll check it out, but I’m putting it on my expenses. Anything else I need to know?”

“I’ll be in touch,” Cass said before Ellana heard the familiar beep of the call ending.

Ellana grabbed her eReader from her work bag, quickly tapped _Inquisitive Hearts_ into the search box, and set the book to download.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I realized I was going to include chapters of Inquisitive Hearts within the main story, maerisk generously volunteered to compose the light-on-history and heavy-on-speculation novel. 
> 
> Heads up - Inquisitive Hearts chapters will generally be mildly NSFW, including this one.

With another four hours of travel ahead of her, Ellana settled in to work. She found a few articles on the Final Inquisitor and arcane realism, but everything she read struck her as light on facts and heavy on speculation.

The one thing everyone seemed to agree on was that there were very few contemporary sources from the Inquisitor’s time. This was not especially surprising, one article explained, because the Inquisitor must have been at the height of her power immediately preceding the Radiant War. With so much of both Tevinter and Orlais felled during the war itself, it was no wonder that delicate things like paper correspondence had not survived.

There were, another article pointed out, two texts which provided some clue as to the Inquisitor’s position in medieval Thedas. After reading the summary of each, Ellana jotted down the names of these documents in her notes, hoping she might be able to find a decent translation at some point in her travels:

_The ‘Vibennis Map’ - Annotated map depicting actual location of Tevinter troops and predicted/suspected location and movements of Inquisition forces. Obviously might not be completely correct, but supposedly shows the Inquisitor’s soldiers as active across much of continental Thedas._

_The ‘Boutin Letter’ - Seems to indicate the Inquisitor had a hand in choosing a new Divine. Was the Inquisition the military branch of the Andrastian church? If so, how much power did they have in actual states?_

Ellana paused for a moment, staring out the window at the coastline rolling past. They must be nearing Cumberland, she thought with a glance at her watch. It wouldn’t be too much longer before the train turned south and crossed over the bridge that spanned the Waking Sea. She’d heard a lot of people found the bridge unsettling, especially once you couldn’t see land either in front of or behind you, but it was her favorite part of the ride.

She looked back down at her notes, and decided to add the one source that had been predictably missing from the articles she read:

  
_‘Fen'Harel Enansal’ - A poem / song / prayer(??) Dalish scholars have historically attributed to the Final Inquisitor. She wrote it without realizing how completely inappropriate / heretical / ridiculous it would come across, thanks to some misunderstanding she had of ancient elven religion._

According to tradition, the actual text of the poem was lost long ago, save for one line which scholars had deemed untranslatable. But for the Dalish, the phrase “Fen'Harel Enansal” had become synonymous with outsiders attempting to understand anything elven but failing miserably (and perhaps offensively). It wasn’t unlike the Orlesian notion of the _faux pas_ , except that it conveyed a bit more willful condescension. Someone asking _Why don’t you have any of those tattoos on your face_ , for example, would be a clear Fen'Harel Enansal.

Having exhausted the few reliable-looking sources she could find online, Ellana switched focuses from the Inquisitor to Cassandra’s friend, Solas. She found his contact information easily on the University of Lydes website, though the faculty profiles were somewhat lacking. Lydes was a much smaller university than the one in Val Royeaux. UVR’s website would have featured a professor’s courses, perhaps the entire list of their written works, and certainly a photo. Lydes apparently didn’t have the interest or the funds to include anything more than each professor’s title, where they’d gone to school, and an email address.

Ellana pulled up the Lydes Museum of Natural History’s website next. She looked over the descriptions of a few of their collections - they certainly did appear to have a great deal of elven items - before turning her attention to a Twitter feed embedded in the right side of the page. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Ellana leaned forward a bit and clicked on the link that would take her to the museum’s Twitter page. She scrolled quickly through the feed, which was mostly full of retweets of guests’ photos taken at the museum, with a few announcements of special exhibits and guest speakers interspersed. One particular announcement caught her eye:

_Come view our Elven Collection! Guided tours available every weeknight with @ItDocentMatter._

It. Docent. Matter.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered out loud to her laptop, as she clicked on the username.

There could be little doubt it was him, but she copied and pasted his university email address into the search box just to be certain. @ItDocentMatter appeared on her screen again.

 Ellana chewed on her bottom lip, weighing her options. It wouldn’t be the politest thing to do, she thought. And Cass had made it perfectly clear that her friend wasn’t the subject of the story. But, then again, this was basically the point of social media, wasn’t it? And maybe a quick perusal of his tweets would give her a better idea of how to approach him, she told herself.

 She placed a finger on the laptop’s trackpad and scrolled down.

 There wasn’t much. A few retweets of photographs, occasional quips that had probably sounded better in his head than they did immortalized in tweet form, and semi-regular announcements of office hours for the students who likely followed his account for a laugh. She took only a cursory glance before bookmarking the page and snapping her laptop shut.

 After repacking her work bag, Ellana tucked her legs underneath her and opened the cover to her eReader. _Inquisitive Hearts_ was there, waiting for her.

 

* * *

 

_Inquisitive Hearts  
Chapter 3 _

  _Despite the pomp and ceremony everyone had undergone to make it clear they’d given Sister Jeanne the great honor and grand title of the Inquisitor, there wasn’t much for her to do in between conferences with her advisors and the latest news that arrived by raven. At first she’d cloistered herself in her quarters, diving headfirst into the tomes, maps, and reports that poured endlessly onto the great dark wood of her desk. It was long and broad, with large, thick legs that probably made up half the weight of the immovable thing. The sides of the desk’s surface were lined with intricately carved nugs, and the feet were modeled after nug feet._

_While reading a missive from three days ago (she was nearly caught up, thank the Maker), the sun rose just high enough to no longer be illuminating the parchment in her cavernous, dim chambers. She threw her quill down in frustration._

_She pushed back her chair from the table with determination, rubbed her eyes, and moved to the window. It seemed far too early to be working by candlelight, she thought to herself, and stretched her stiff muscles as she moved across the room and to the balcony for a bit of fresh air._

_The courtyard was, as always, alive with bustling and busy troops. Her troops, she thought to herself. She didn’t feel like a military commander, nor that she should be one, but the Maker had chosen her for this lot in life, and she would make the best of it._

_Below, she saw a  group of archers honing their craft, the tight sinews of their muscles drawing back their arrows until the bowstrings are tense they could snap, then the sweet release, bursting forth, the arrow flying and penetrating its target with the most satisfying of noises._

_Jeanne took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Why had her heart rate risen? She ran her thin fingers through her hair, and tugged on her earlobe, an old habit the older sisters had tried to break her of in the Chantry where she had served but never could. It made her feel alive, it made her feel safe. It brought her back into herself. She felt collected, and began to turn to go back to the missives waiting at her desk._

_But it would seem the Maker had other plans. As soon as she turned, a sudden breeze swept through the courtyard and the sudden whipping around of garments and capes caught her eye. She watched as the merchants try to keep their tents from blowing away. The clouds in the sky were moving at an alarming clip as well, and the courtyard soon darkened, with the exception of one shining patch that fell directly on a figure all too familiar to Jeanne._

_Jeanne had never seen a man like the Templar captain. His shoulders were broad from years of training and he swaggered into the room with an alluring confidence that took her breath away. He wore his russet hair clipped neatly against his scalp with the exception of a tiny errant bit that lay in the opposite direction of the rest of perfect coiffe. Jeanne couldn’t help but wonder if that small, stubborn curl weren’t reflective of a bit of spice in his otherwise ordered personality. She watched him now, walking through the courtyard, illuminated by the Maker’s light shining from the sky. Jeanne sighed as she leaned her elbows on the balcony’s marble railing. The wind picked up again, and the Captain’s cape blew with it, and Jeanne’s gaze fell from his shoulders down his muscular back and rested on his apple-shaped behind. She let herself linger there for only a few seconds before she felt her face flush._

_She closed her eyes, tugged her earlobe, and returned to her desk._

_“Yes, she said to the documents that awaited her, there are important matters to be dealt with.” She sat down with purpose, lit a few candles, and resumed reading._

_She hadn’t even finished a brief report from one of her scouts when she heard a knock at her chamber door. Secretly thankful for the distraction, she pushed back her chair and moved to open the heavy wooden door._

_Standing there in front of her was the Captain, his figure even more impressive and imposing in person. She wondered briefly if his broad pauldroned shoulders would even fit through the door. For a moment she believed he had caught her looking at him and had come to scold her. That couldn’t be why he was here, could it?_

_“Captain,” she managed to choke out. “Did I miss a meeting? I was lost in these documents,” she said as she gestured towards her desk._

_The captain cleared his throat. “Surely you can’t read in this darkness, Inquisitor,” he said, his voice a rumble that shook through her, “you’ll go blind.”_

_She nervously tucked her hair behind her ear._

_The captain’s face transformed, as though suddenly struck. “I’m so sorry, Inquisitor, I didn’t mean to chide you like a child. I only meant…” he put his hand up to the back of his head. “I’m so sorry,” he said, the words stumbling out of his mouth. His cheeks had turned a rosy color. Jeanne had never seen the stoic captain trip on his tongue before._

_She had never thought about the captain’s tongue before._

_She cleared her throat. “Did you need something, captain?” She was bolstered by his embarrassment. Surely if he had seen her staring he would have come in more confidently._

_“Oh, yes, right,” he said, regaining a bit of his usual composure. “I only came to ask about the reports from the demon movement outside of Denerim._

_“Ah, yes,” Jeanne said, “I’ve received them.” She pulled the door open and gestured for the Captain to come in. “They’re on my desk.”_

_The Captain crossed the distance to her desk in three long and powerful strides. He looked down at the stack of parchment, and began digging through them._

_Jeanne found herself walking slowly toward him, watching his back illuminated by the sunshine from the window, his face lit by candlelight. The small flickering flames reflected in his eyes that were already a bright amber color, like resin. He positively glowed. His strong, rough hands looked so different from the hands of the men she had known in her life; a bit scarred and calloused, but clean. She imagined them on her paper-smooth skin, the stubble of his cheek tickling her neck, his powerful grip on her hips. She licked her lips._

_Just before she could totally lose herself in fantasy, he removed a single parchment from the stack and turned to her. “I’ve found it,” he said triumphantly._

_She walked to stand next to him, their hands almost touching as they both reviewed the document on the table. Her pinky twitched closer to his._

_“I can’t see how you could read in this light,” he said, quickly moving his hand away. “Have you considered moving the desk closer to the window?”_

_She swallowed hard. She did not like to admit weakness at all, let alone to someone who made her stomach all… whatever this feeling was. But she also wanted to trust him, more than anything. “I can’t move it,” she said with a faint smile, “it’s too heavy.”_

_“Well that’s one way I can make myself useful,” Andor said. Before she could stop him,  he had removed his cape and armor and was standing before her, in her chambers, in only the leather layer of his armor. The moment he turned away, Jeanne pinched herself._ Was she dreaming? Was this The Fade?

_For the next several minutes, Jeanne watched enraptured as the Captain, with considerable sweat, understated grunts, and impressive strength moved her monstrous desk from one end of her chambers to the bright light of the window. When the last bit slid into place, it occurred to Jeanne she should have offered to help._

_Andor leaned backwards onto the desk, breathing heavily from his effort. Small beads of sweat had gathered on his noble forehead. His face and neck were flushed with exertion. Her mind wandered again._

_“Thank you, my Captain,” she said with a performative curtsey. “Can I get you some water? Or ale?”_

_Andor was still breathing heavily. He moved to stand, but his legs seemed to wobble with the weight of his muscles. Jeanne quickly rushed across the room to catch him._

_Together, the two of them moved towards the only comfortable sitting surface in the room, Jeanne’s bed. “I’m just a little…” he said, his eyelids fluttering._

_“Captain, when was the last time you ate?” Jeanne asked, her medical training kicking in. She reached across his lap to take his hand in hers. She put two of her delicate fingers on his wrist, monitoring his pulse. It was far slower than it should be given his exertion._

_She could tell by his lack of response that he didn’t remember eating any time recently. “Here, lay back,” she said, gesturing to the pillows at the headboard. He grunted again as he repositioned herself, but her concern quickly banished the heart flutter elicited in her. “I’ll send for some bread and cheese,” she assured him. She realized she was still holding his hand in hers. But he hadn’t pulled it away, either. Suddenly the spark of excitement flew from her hand to her belly. The Captain was in her bed and clad in much less clothing than he usually wore._

_Jeanne called a servant then returned to sit next to him on the bed. She took his hand in hers once more and marveled at how tiny she felt next to him, how delicate and safe. His breath had fallen into the steady rhythm of sleep. He must have worked himself to exhaustion these last few weeks, she thought, to the point of collapse. She would stay with him now, and monitor him until he regained his strength._

_Careful not to wake him, she moved towards his head. His errant curl up close falling delicately onto the pillow. Her pillow. She couldn’t help but to try to tuck it back into place._

_His long eyelashes stirred, and before she knew it, her face was mere inches from him as she stared deeply into the captain’s hazel eyes. Her breath hitched._

_“Captain,” she said, breathlessly._

_“Inquisitor,” he replied. His tongue idly flicked across his bottom lip, leaving a small glistening spot._

_For a moment they just stared into each other’s eyes._

_Andor began to sit up, never breaking her gaze. With a careless effort but pure purpose, he reached down and grabbed the hem of his undershirt, pulling it effortlessly over his head. His muscled chest still rose and fell in a slow rhythm, his torso striped with battle scars. Jeanne held her breath as her eyes lowered from his and scanned his exposed body. His gaze followed hers, as he looked down on himself._

_“They don’t hurt anymore,” he said quietly. His hand reached for hers, and he guided it to his chest. She let her fingertips trace the lines of scar tissue from his shoulders, cutting through the light patch of chest hair between his pecs, then down across his rippled abdominal muscles. One of the scars started right below his last rib and sank down below his beltline. She bit her lip and traced her fingers down it, lower and lower until her fingers were grazing the top of his trousers and she was asking him a question with a furtive glance. “I’ve wanted this from the moment I met you, Inquisitor,” he rasped._

  _His answer was a kiss, swiftly and passionately delivered as he crossed the remaining distance between them. His hands were immediately at the edges of her tunic, desperate to remove the layers of cloth between them. His tongue probed her mouth urgently, only breaking their kiss to remove the offending clothing herself. His rough hands grasped her breast with surprising delicacy, and his tongue roamed from her neck down across her collarbone and down to her nipple. Jeanne rolled her head back, “Oh, Maker,” she moaned-_

  
“Nope,” Ellana said, quickly snapping the cover of her eReader shut and shoving it deep into her work bag. She was suddenly acutely aware that the seats around her had largely filled up during the train’s brief stop in Val Chevin. It would only be a little while longer now, she thought, as she gathered up the rest of her things and prepared to disembark.


	4. Chapter 4

The train station at Lydes was often described as a “little sister” to its much larger counterpart in Val Royeaux. The roof loomed high above Ellana, its metal beams, intricate filigree, and huge windows smaller than the ones she often passed beneath at Val Royeux, but no less beautiful.

She’d assumed, from what Cass had said on the phone earlier, that the docent himself might be picking her up from the station. Instead, he’d sent the palest and most undernourished grad student she’d ever seen. The kid was desperately in need of a good night’s sleep and a haircut, and she insisted upon buying him a muffin from one of the food stalls before they left. He introduced himself as Cole and he was polite enough, though his idea of politeness was a little blunter than she was used to.

Ellana allowed Cole to escort her to where he’d double-parked outside. His car was - well his car functioned, by a certain definition, though she’d had to toss her bag in his backseat because his trunk was filled with a large cage and _hay_ , which he’d identified only as “nug supplies.” And once she knew what all the stuff was for, she couldn’t get the thought out of her head that the entire car smelled like nugs and that she was going to smell like them too by the time they got to their destination.

Cole had decided to take her on the “scenic route,” which meant a tour of the three streets that made up Lydes’ historical downtown area. He narrated the entire drive like a tour guide, albeit a tour guide who was more interested in telling her where certain stray dogs liked to hang out and how you could get them to let you pet them than what the names of the buildings were. He did manage to at least point out a couple of coffee shops where he said he liked to sit and listen to people talk, as well as one of the largest university buildings where most of his classes were held.

“I read your book for my Modern Dalish Practices seminar,” he told her as she watched the university’s more interesting buildings pass by in his rear-view mirror.

“Really?” Ellana asked in genuine disbelief. The book had been a labor of love, something she worked on whenever she could steal a free hour from paid assignments. It had sold moderately well, and she managed to get one or two scholars with impressive-sounding titles to lend their names to the blurbs on the dust jacket. But her publisher had always led her to believe - and she had no reason to doubt - that it would be a niche piece.

“Oh, yes!” Cole said excitedly, nodding his entire head in a way that made his hands shake the steering wheel in a way she really didn’t care for. “I thought it was excellent, no matter what Professor Solas thought was missing from your section on traditional stories.”

Whatever small part of her might have been flattered vanished immediately.

Ellana cleared her throat and rolled down the window a bit to get some air that wasn’t stale with the musky scent of nugs. “And what, in your Professor’s estimation, was missing from my book?”

“Oh, Professor Solas gave us some supplementary reading on the oral traditions about the Dalish ‘Creators.’” Judging from Cole’s cheery tone, she’d either done a good job disguising her annoyance or the kid was truly oblivious.

“He thought those stories were particularly relevant in a course about _modern_ Dalish life?” she asked.

“Yes!” Cole said, nodding his head vigorously again. “I thought it was odd, but they are interesting stories so I didn’t mind reading them.”

She tried to push the implications of all this from her mind as Cole turned into the parking lot for the Lydes Museum of Natural History where, he explained, Solas was working that afternoon. She hated to go into an assignment already having solid opinions (and especially negative opinions) formed of an interviewee, but between the business with arcane realism and now this, the image forming in her head was not a pleasant one.

Cole led her through the elaborate entryway to the museum, which was framed by a line of statues on either side of the steps. She wasn’t entirely certain who the statues were supposed to be - except the one wearing a mask and an elaborate dress with a lion’s head engraved onto its bust. Even a Dalish kid growing up on the other side of the Waking Sea learned about Celene Valmont, the last Empress of Orlais.

There were signs pointing the way to several collections she wanted to see before she left Lydes for the Arbor Wilds, but Cole quickly shepherded her past all of these and down a narrow and boring-looking corridor that dead-ended at a handful of offices. There was a small waiting area outside, where Cole left her after he’d shown her which office belonged to Solas, promising the professor should be along to meet her shortly. With that, he excused himself abruptly and hurried back the way they’d come.

Ellana sat down on the wooden bench in the waiting area, hauling her bags up next to her. The office directly across from her had a nameplate fixed to the door, but it said only _Docent_ without any additional information about which docent might use this particular office. The small window on the door was covered from the inside by something, and it was too bright in the hallway to tell whether there light coming from within.

With a heavy sigh, she fished her cell phone out of her purse. A text message from Varric was waiting for her. 

 

> _Varric: Met the good doctor yet?_
> 
> _Ellana: No, but from everything I’ve heard so far, he sounds insufferable. I’m waiting outside his office right now - don’t know how long he’ll be._
> 
> _Varric: LOL - Insufferable is a good word for Chuckles._
> 
> _Ellana: You’ve met him?_
> 
> _Varric: Just once or twice when Cass was in grad school. She and I were pretty close then, don’t know if I’ve mentioned that before._

Varrick had mentioned this fact before - many times before, in fact. She’d often wondered if maybe he and Cass had been more than friends back then, and if this was why he brought it up so often (and why Cass scowled at him every time he did).

 

> _Ellana: I take it Chuckles is a sarcastic nickname?_
> 
> _Varric: Not exactly …_

She saw the three dots pop up indicating that Varric was typing something else. They disappeared after a few seconds only to reappear a moment later. Finally, a new message appeared on her screen.

 

> _Varric: Just a heads up ..._
> 
> _He’s tall._

She peered down at her phone and tapped a quick reply.

 

> _Ellana: So?_
> 
> _Varric: Just saying - noticing - that you have a type._

Ellana scowled at the image of Varric’s smug face that suddenly appeared in her mind.

 

> _Ellana: My ‘type’ is not insufferable asshole._
> 
> _Varric: Sometimes it can be hard to remember that when you’re staring up at someone who’s a few heads taller than you. Or so I’m told …_
> 
> _Ellana: Stop._
> 
> _Varric: Alright, alright. Just saying._
> 
> _Ellana: I’m going to look around for a bit. I can’t just sit outside this guy’s office all day._
> 
> _Varric: Let me know the precise moment you decide to slap him._
> 
> _Ellana: Thanks for the vote of confidence._
> 
> _Varric: Anytime, Magpie._

A few minutes later, Ellana found herself wandering through an exhibit filled with items that dated back to the Dragon Age, which - according to popular belief, at least - was the time of the Final Inquisitor herself. It was a small collection and confined to a smaller exhibit hall, so she took in everything there was to see in a quick loop. There were a few scorched-looking pieces of fabric that a plaque identified as ‘Banner with unknown sigil’ and a rotten-looking wooden thing that was supposedly a piece from what must have been an enormous shield.

But even with the descriptions and history that explained each item, Ellana found it nearly impossible to find any excitement or wonder about the time. _Chances are_ , she thought cynically, _this mysterious time we think of as being the height of courtly romance and intrigue was just a miserable stink hole with no plumbing and high rates of infectious disease_.

She headed for the front of the exhibit, back toward the docent offices, more irritated than ever that she’d been kept waiting so long. But something at the corner of her eye caught her attention.

It was a small artifact, perched atop a pedestal that stood chest-high. A bright spotlight shone down on it from the ceiling above. Given how clearly the item itself was accentuated by the design of the exhibit, Ellana couldn’t understand how she’d overlooked it initially.

She crossed the room to get a better look.

The piece was a strange little thing. It had broken into a dozen or so pieces, only some of which seemed to be included here. The museum had fashioned it into an approximation of what it might have looked like when it was whole - a stone-carved sphere, a little too large to sit comfortably in the palm of one’s hand, with deep ridges carved in a swirling pattern along its surface. The pieces were mounted on clear supports, which gave the overall the impression that the thing was suspended in midair just above the pedestal’s top.

She turned to the plaque on the wall beside the display.

_Unknown artifact, Ferelden, ca. Dragon Age_

“Not helpful,” Ellana murmured as she looked at the little sphere again. But this time something was wrong with the spotlight above. It seemed to her that a glistening green light shimmered along the sphere’s surface, winding its way between the carved ridges from one broken piece to the next.

She took a step closer.

 _What IS that_ , she thought, leaning over the display until her nose was only a few inches away from the sphere itself.

She wasn’t certain what happened next.

Ellana exhaled slowly and watched in awe as her breath condensed in front of her, and she felt the bite at the tips of her ears that she would have expected from the coldest day of winter. And then she watched, frozen with equal parts fascination and horror, as a hand - was it _her_ hand? - reached out to touch the glowing sphere.

Her fingertips were a breath away from its surface when something grabbed her wrist with painful force.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” an infuriated voice asked from behind her back.

The sensation faded. The green light was gone, as was the cold that had enveloped her. She took a step away from the pedestal, and turned to face the man who held her wrist in an iron grip.

He was an elf, tall and thin, dressed in a well-tailored suit with a green vest beneath. He was bald with an utterly ridiculous chin, and his strange grey eyes stared into hers with an unmistakable loathing.

 _Well, shit_ , she thought.


	5. Chapter 5

Contrary to what some of his undergrads might believe, it took a lot to anger Solas. He would put up with quite a lot in the classroom - from questions that, while well-meaning, diverted the scheduled discussion for thirty minutes at a time, to the stragglers who begged for “just another 12 hours, _please”_ to finish that final term paper. He’d been a bit harsher when he was younger, still fresh off defending his thesis and with hot-blooded ideas about classroom discipline that he’d later realized were too rigid to be practical.

But right at this moment, Solas thought he’d never been angrier.

“Let go of me,” the woman all but growled through her teeth.

He still held her wrist tightly in his grasp, and his hand barely budged as she attempted to wrench it away from him. When she tried a second time, he let his fingers go slack, sending her reeling backwards and away from the artifact.

“Fine,” Solas growled back at her. “I’m calling security.”

He saw her expression change immediately, from one of infuriated defiance to sudden worry. “There’s no need for that,” she quickly replied. “I am here by invitation.”

“Really?” Solas scoffed. “You have an invitation to roam about the museum and put your hands all over any priceless artifacts that catch your eye, is that what you’d have me believe?”

“No, I -” she took a step back, and Solas was afforded a better view of her now that she was beyond the harsh glow of the exhibit’s spotlight. She was a small woman, an elf - likely Dalish, he thought, dressed almost entirely in black and carrying a large bag over one shoulder. He was struck by a sudden sense that he’d seen her face somewhere before, though he couldn’t imagine when or where that might have been.

“I - I’m sorry for - listen,” she said, finally. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I suppose I must be tired and I wasn’t paying attention to how close I got to the exhibit. I had no intention of trying to deface it in any way, I promise.”

Solas eyed her appraisingly. Her tone and expression were sincere, though he had no idea what in the world she’d been doing if not attempting to knock the artifact off its base.

“First time in a museum, was it?” he asked sarcastically. He wanted to admonish her more, or to interrogate her intentions more thoroughly, but he could already hear the familiar sound of retreat in his own voice. _12 hours to finish that paper and not a minute longer_ , he heard himself telling an undergrad, all the while knowing he’d allow them 16 if absolutely necessary.

The woman took another step backwards, and he saw now that her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. “I’ll just … be on my way then,” she said sheepishly. “I’m late for a meeting.”

“I’m-” Solas began, struck with a sudden urge to apologize for startling her - an utterly ridiculous impulse under the circumstances, which he only just barely managed to suppress. “Who is it you’re meeting?” he asked instead. “I will escort you to their office.” _And make sure you don’t try to grab a hold of any other priceless relics in the process_ , he thought.

“No, I - that’s not -” the woman stammered as she held her hands up in front of her. “I already know where his office is, thank you. He’s a docent here - Professor Solas.”

Solas froze at the sound of his own name, the anger he’d swallowed suddenly bubbling up again as several puzzle pieces snapped together in his brain.

“You-” he said quietly, seeing the woman through entirely new eyes. “Cassandra sent _you?”_

Her chin dipped slightly as she opened her mouth in surprise. She started to speak again, but he hurried on before she could get a word out.

“I recognize you now,” he said, his eyes narrowing at the face he’s seen below dozens of bylines, at a handful of conferences, and on at least one dust jacket.

“Professor Solas-” she began, having clearly figured things out as well, but he interrupted her again.

“Ellana Lavellan,” Solas said with all the spite he could muster - which was quite a bit of spite, he suddenly realized. “I thought Cassandra would have understood what I needed here. I thought I made it perfectly clear that a delicate and inconspicuous touch is necessary for this project. The last thing I need is yet another agenda to manage.”

The woman’s eyebrows raised halfway up her forehead as her lips pursed into an irritated-looking pout. “Agenda?” she repeated, her voice suddenly filled with a defiance that hadn’t been there before. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

Solas knew from her tone that he was on dangerous footing. The question sounded terribly like a challenge to him - a line drawn in the sand that she was daring him to cross, if he were a big enough fool to do so. The other side of that line meant an all-out argument. This was written as plainly on her face as it had been conveyed in her words.

Solas knew all this, and yet, he didn’t stop himself.

“I’ve read your work,” he said in an icy way that made it clear he wasn’t telling her this to be complimentary. “You make it quite plain how you feel about Dalish artifacts being studied and maintained in non-Dalish facilities, regardless of the care and expertise of those of us who work with the artifacts on a daily basis. The very notion that Cassandra could think that your presence here would be anything short of throwing a powder keg into a fire is laughable. What was your plan - I suppose you intend to reclaim this orb today and everything from the new digsite tomorrow?”

He finished, feeling a wave of self-satisfied superiority as he stared down at Ellana, whose expression had gone surprisingly neutral.

“So let me make sure I’ve got this straight,” she said in a flat voice that, for some reason he didn’t understand, made him feel as if someone had stabbed a frozen knife into his stomach. “You are insulting my professionalism as well as Cassandra’s. You are questioning the right of my people - of _our_ people - to be parties to the study of our own history. And you are accusing me of attempted theft as well as - I guess? - convincing Cass to assign me to this story just so I could disrupt a digsite that very well may contain artifacts which have far-reaching implications for _everyone_ in Thedas?”

“I am simply pointing out-” Solas began to reply.

“I see,” Ellana cut him off. “So it’s not that you are completely misrepresenting my intentions here and displaying a gross ignorance of the Dalish and what you refer to as our ‘agenda?’ And by the way, Professor Solas, if I might ask,” she said with something that sounded as if it might be a sarcastic version of the voice she would use in an interview. “Even if I _were_ here to reclaim these artifacts from the Orlesians who stole them - stole them from Ferelden even after they were stolen from the Dalish, mind you  - are _you_ really telling me that _you_ would stop me?”

Solas hesitated to respond as it was taking all of his focus to try to ignore the feeling of warmth spreading from his cheeks to the very tips of his ears. Somewhere, deep inside his head, a part of him was yelling that this was not how two professionals spoke to one another and, _honestly_ , _what the hell was he doing?_

He decided to try to backtrack. Just a bit.

“It’s simply that I don’t believe you are the best fit for this particular project.”

“Oh, is that all?” Ellana asked. “Well in that case - fuck this project. Fuck Orlais. And fuck you, Solas.”

And with that shockingly even-toned admonishment, Ellana Lavellan turned her back on him and walked out of the room.


End file.
